


my youth is yours

by tsunderestorm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 13:43:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: They say that the Astrals watch through the Crystal, and anything said to it is set in stone with them as witnesses. Surely, though, it's just agamewhen Noctis and Ignis "get married" in front of it...except for the fact that it isn't.





	my youth is yours

**Author's Note:**

> A non-kinky fill for the kink meme, for a prompt of "Baby ignoct tell everyone they're married now and Regis is like aw sure kids. Even though they argue that it was in front of crystal so it's true but everyone brushes it off. Except when Noctis refuses the marriage to Luna cause you know he's kinda been taken for years". Let's be real...how could I say no to that? I did make it a bit of a canon divergence AU where the treaty is still proposed, but this time it’s an idea between Lucis and Tenebrae (which isn’t controlled by Niflheim) and is done in times of peace after Niflheim was defeated years before. I just couldn’t stand to make it sad.
> 
> Viewable in its original posted format [here](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4113.html?thread=7214097#cmt7214097).

“Hey Specs, what if they try and make me marry a princess when I’m older?” Noctis asks. He is five years old, trying to navigate the choppy waters around his identity as a prince, curious and full of questions. Ignis prides himself on having the answers to many of them - it is his job, his sworn oath, his calling. He’s spent all of his time with Noctis recently, Learning the ins and outs of his charge. Noct is only two years his junior but so small and fragile, quiet and shy but Ignis has learned what makes him come alive, what makes his eyes light up. Today it’s art - he’s turned over the basic worksheet from his tutor and has resorted to drawing on it.

“It’s very possible that they will,” Ignis answers, staring up at the kingdom’s Crystal as he speculates. It is immense, gleaming and spectacular, a rainbow of colors: deep reds and soft greens, a pink so dark it looks purple. A brilliant blue like the ocean waves that surround their city, like a kaleidoscope painting the prince in spatters of multicolored light. “A prince has many duties. Perhaps, as in history, the Fleuret and Caelum lines will join.”

Noctis turns to him and makes a face, sticking his tongue out before going back to his task. “No way. I don’t know _anyone_ well enough to marry them! Don’t know anyone but you and Gladiolus, and he never wants to talk to me! ”

Noctis returns to the picture he’s drawing (a very charming rendition of His Majesty in his resplendent raiment) and chews thoughtfully on his lower lip. Ignis watches him with a bizarre mix of admiration for the young prince and a surging desire to protect him - he wonders, perhaps, if this is the way Gladiolus feels: Shield to the prince, the future King, duty-bound from a young age, determined to succeed. Devoted.

“I’ll marry _you_!” Noctis chirps suddenly, without warning, tossing the black pencil he’d been emphatially coloring with to the ground atop his artwork.

Ignis has never imagined a marriage for himself, only Noctis. In the way a tactician and adviser must look always to the future, he has imagined the ceremony he’ll one day attend for the prince - political, to some member of nobility from a foreign land. Everyone knows that King Regis had married for love, a childhood friend, but something in him doubts Noctis will be gifted that same luxury. A daughter of Accordo, perhaps, but most likely the princess of Tenebrae. Even still, Ignis indulges him in this.

“Very well,” he says, reaching out to brush a piece of Noct’s hair back from his face. Soothing, the way he’s seen mothers and fathers do. The way Noctis’ mother can’t, cold in her grave as she is; the way Noctis’ father can’t, busy as he is. Noctis smiles as he abandons his picture, sending the colored pencils rolling wildly as he stands and pivots to face the illustrious Crystal, throwing his arms out and looking up at it.

“You hear that, Crystal?” he announces. “I’m gonna marry Specs! I’m not gonna _be_ a Caelum any more, I’m gonna be a Scientia!”

Suddenly, Ignis feels strange. The air feels thicker, heavier...ripe with some sort of energy, hot and electric like a summer day before a storm. He swears he sees something in the facets of the crystal - a flash of a shadow rippling over the edges, dark amongst the sun-drenched colors. Moving closer and adjusting his glasses, he watches it carefully, trying to convince himself it’s only a trick of the shifting sunlight.

“Noct, have a look there, there’s something mov - “

Noctis plasters his face against the glass surrounding the artifact, eyes darting from one crystalline cluster to another. “Maybe it’s an astral! Don’t they see through the Crystal? Ooh, I wonder if it’s Shiva! Or Ramuh! Or BAHAMUT?? Hear that, Bahamut? I’m gonna marry Ignis and we’re both gonna be princes!”

Ignis’ stomach turns somersaults to match the frantic pounding of his heart in his ribcage. He’s never felt like this before - overwhelmed in a not-entirely-unpleasant way, full of purpose. Full of what he supposes is love, love for the only friend he has, the only family he’s ever really known. Noctis is a star, a sun, bright and lively and Ignis is a planet spinning around him. Devoted, determined, ever-present. Put there by some cosmic force, part of something greater. He is only seven, but he knows he’ll spend the rest of his life at Noctis’ side and that’s the only way he wants it.

“Don’t we have to say ‘I do’?” Noctis asks as he stares up at the Crystal looming above him, voice faint as it’s muffled against the glass. 

“Well, there are usually vows first, but I suppose that is the process, simpli - “ Ignis starts to answer. He doesn’t get the thought out, though, before Noctis is shouting again, no longer hard to hear and so loudly Ignis is afraid the castle guard stationed just beside the elevator across the rooftop will come running. 

“I do! Hear that, big Crystal? Hear that, Bahamut?” He looks over his shoulder, all wide-eyed and hopeful. “Ig, you do?”

Ignis sighs, smiles, plays along. It harms no one. Just indulging the prince in these quiet moments, things Ignis has already learned in the few short years he’s been at his side. Noctis perceives things differently, expresses them differently - if he’s so animated about something, it’s best to encourage it. It’s nothing more than a way to placate him, means little beyond playing along with the young royal’s games.

(Except for the fact that it does. It means everything in a way that already shakes Ignis to his core.)

“I do.”

A silence descends over the rooftop like a blanket, and for a moment it is just the two of them. He wonders if this is how the Messengers feel when the Astrals come to them, entrusted with glorious purpose, the knowledge that could shake a kingdom, a continent, their entire star.

Ignis steps forward slowly. Measured steps, hesitant to break the stillness of their private moment. Noctis turns around, looking up at him. Slowly, he holds out his hand (shaking, as it had been that first day on the dais) and Ignis meets it with both of his, clasps Noctis’ hand between his. His hands are rough, dry from clutching wooden pencils all morning, cold despite the midday sun.

Noctis lets out a breath Ignis hadn’t realized he was holding and asks “Are we married now, Ig?”

“What’s this, a wedding ceremony?” King Regis interjects as he steps out of the elevator, breaking the thickness of the air, steadies the world that seemed for a moment like it was swaying beneath Ignis’ feet. “I think my son is a bit young for talks of marriage!”

Ignis bows deeply when the King stands beside them, offering a quiet _Your Majesty_ as greetings. His Majesty returns it with a subtle inclination of his head as he reaches to pat the top of Noctis’ head, ruffling his hair. 

“Papa!” Noct squeaks excitedly. “Papa, I married Ignis!”

“Is that so, my dear? What say you, Ignis? It would seem I’ve acquired a second son this day.”

Ignis smiles to himself and says “So it seems, your Majesty.”

“Yeah! We told the Crystal and everything!” Noctis interjects, practically bouncing as he walks along beside his father before Regis pauses, bending to scoop Noctis up in his arms. Ignis picks up Noctis’ drawing and his pencils, tucking them under his arm. He’ll show the King later, he imagines. Better not to interrupt their bonding.

“Well, then it must be true!” Regis laughs. Ignis trails dutifully behind, adjusting his glasses once more. They are brand new, frames the gleaming black of Lucis to match his smartly-pressed trousers with the gold buttons. He _belongs_ with Noctis, Regis says, has asked him to be there always and forever and Ignis intends to do just that. Forever, until there’s nothing left of him.

“Did you know I’m gonna marry Ignis?” Noctis says over his father’s shoulder to Clarus walking dutifully behind his King. “We told the Crystal and everything.”

Fearful that the scrutinizing Shield will turn a look of disdain his way, Ignis focuses on rearranging the stack of art supplies in his grasp, studying the indents between blocks of grey stone on the Citadel’s rooftop as he walks across them.

Clarus sighs. “I see, Your Highness.”

Ignis steals a glance at Noctis, watches the way his mouth forms into a pout, sticking his tongue out at Clarus before turning back to his father. “Papa, you believe me, right? I married Ignis!”

“Of course you did, son,” Regis laughs, poking the young prince’s tongue playfully to chastise him for his petulant display. “I’ll be sure to announce your marriage at a more appropriate time!”

_**\- years later -** _

“WHAT?” Noctis shouts when he reaches The Line in the proposed conditions. It’s only a memo at this point, a political press release distributed to the council members, but the intent is the same - little will be changed from the draft to the final treaty that will bear official signatures. It’s been crumpled by the clench of Ignis’ fist around it, shoved carelessly into his briefcase to bring home to the prince. 

“No,” he says. Turned away from him as he is, Ignis can’t see Noctis’ face so he relies on body language: the way his shoulders sag, defeated, the way he shuffled forward awkwardly, like he’s having trouble believing even the ground beneath his feet. “No way. They want me to - _what_?”

Ignis sighs. He has anticipated this, has run through every reaction he knows Noctis is likely to have, buried his own disappointment and heartbreak under the mask of duty he's donned. Deep down he’s dreaded this day, dreaded having to be the one to tell the love of his life he’s been betrothed to someone he hasn’t seen in ten years. Still, Noctis should hear it from him first, better his beloved than a council member, his father, some gossiping palace attendant. “Noct, regrettably - “

Noctis tosses the thin packet of paper to the floor and turns toward him, disbelieving. “Specs.. Seriously? I can’t marry _Luna_. I’m already married.”

Ignis aches to rub his temples, to close his eyes and sink into the dreamworld Noctis is referring to. The one they go to at night when Noctis is half asleep in Ignis’ ever-strengthening arms, jelly-limbed and loose-lipped and _soft_ , saying things he’d never say in front of anyone else. “Wanna be yours,” he says, eyes closed as he drifts off, offering Ignis a small, sleepy smile when Ignis kisses his brow and murmurs “Noctis Scientia” into his temple. A shared secret, a prayer to the astrals that a miracle happens, or at the very least that in their next lives things are different. A game, one they’ve gotten good at in the three-odd years since their relationship had evolved to something _more_ , one Ignis knows it isn’t prudent to play but one that he can’t help himself from wholeheartedly enjoying.

“Noctis, you love Lunafreya,” he reasons. “I remember you had nothing but praise for her after you recovered in Tenebrae, and as much as I would love to see my band on your finger and my last name on yours, it’s just...wishful thinking. A game that we play -”

“Ignis, we’re _married_.” Noctis repeats, insistent, stubborn in the way he refuses to back down from the same thought. “We’ve been married for _years_. We did it in front of the Crystal, Ignis. Are you telling me that doesn’t mean anything? Was that just a game? I thought telling it to the Crystal _meant_ something, I thought that was a big deal! Am I just supposed to ignore that and marry her? She’s like my sister!”

Ignis freezes, working to reorient himself in the wake of Noct’s unusual fury. Gods, they _had_. He wants to say he hasn’t thought about it in the fifteen-odd years since, but it would be a lie. He’s thought about it every day. Every time he helps Noctis tie a tie for another formal gala he doesn’t want to be at, every time an official document says _Noctis Lucis Caelum_ when he imagines _Noctis Scientia_ , every time he curls up beside Noct on the couch at the apartment that may as well belong to _them_ instead of just the prince for how much he is there. 

Every time he threads his hands through Noct’s hair as he sleeps and every time he foolishly lets himself imagine a life where Noctis is free to do as he chooses, he thinks about the way Noctis had looked bathed in the fractured rainbow light of the Crystal, the way his soft child voice had said “ _I do_ ” and how Ignis had matched it with his own.

Noctis watches Ignis, furiously scanning his face for his reaction, some affirmation. _Something_. Ignis knows the reaction he wants, he knows the reaction he wants to give him but sadly, he knows the reaction he _should_ give him. A stoic face, stern and matter-of-fact. As his adviser, he has a duty.

“It will be good for the country. Good for you, Noct,” he explains, steadying his voice so it doesn’t crack under the strain of emotion sitting like a lump in his throat. “At twenty years old, it’s natural that they would want you to be married - “

Noctis’ face falls and Ignis is immediately, acutely aware that he’s said the wrong thing, fractured something in Noctis that it was his responsibility to nurture and protect. 

“I don’t remember a lot from...you know. Before the...uh, attack. But that...I remember that.” Noctis says slowly, suddenly quiet, so far from his outburst earlier that he seems a different person, back to the frightened child he was before he grew comfortably at ease around Ignis. Watching him, it seems to be all his prince can do to shuffle over and flop down onto his favorite couch cushion like a lead weight. Ignis knows he should go to him, touch his shoulder, his cheek but he feels stuck in place, frozen the way he had been when his eyes first read over the proposal, the executioner swinging the sword on what might have someday been something real and recognized for them.

Turning to bury his face into the back of the couch so his expression is no longer visible, Noctis mumbles “Guess I don’t get to remember. Forget it.”

“Noctis,” Ignis says quickly. Sharply, too harsh, then softer: “Noct.”

His prince doesn’t move, save for the way his shoulders shake. He’s crying, easy tears sliding down his face. He cries often, but doesn’t want anyone to see - it is usually Ignis alone who gets to see this pain, this frustration, but now his love is hiding them even from him. It hurts his heart to see him this way, gets into his _soul_ in a way that hurts down to the bone to see the boy he’s loved for years with a broken heart because of something they can’t control. He’s never felt helpless like this.

“Noctis.” He repeats quietly. “ _I_ remember that.”

“Doesn’t mean shit,” Noctis mumbles into the cushion, voice ragged as he chokes out his weirds through tears, through a raw sore throat.

Ignis steps forward and hesitates, nudges the toe of his loafer into the wrinkled council memo discarded in the carpet, imagining for a moment that grinding it into pulp would remove all its existence. Then slowly, smoothly, he moves to sit down on the middle cushion and runs his hand along the slope of Noct’s back. 

“Love, it means everything. You’re right, Noct. That did happen, and I’ve thought about it...well, constantly since it happened. It’s hard to explain, but that day on the rooftop in front of the Crystal…”

Noctis turns just enough that his words are no longer muffled by the leather couch. “It felt like something weird happened? Like Eos shifted or something?”

Ignis smiles down at him and trails his hand up his back and shoulder to caress his tear-streaked cheek. “Yes, Noct. Like something _right_. Irrevocable, if you will.”

Noctis gifts him with the barest glimpse of a smile and nuzzles his cheek against Ignis’ hand. “It just...I don’t know, Ig. It just felt like...real, I guess? And then I grow up and hear all these myths about how the Crystal has said all these things and how stuff done in front of it is like...you’re not supposed to be able to take it back, you know?”

“While I am well-versed in the history of the Lucian kings and their magic,” Ignis says, smoothing Noctis’ hair back from his head. “I am admittedly ignorant of the logistics of promises made to Crystals and Astrals as witnesses. However, as you know, I’ve heard those stories as well.”

Noctis looks up at him - eyes wide, trusting. “It’s real, right? I have nightmares sometimes, Ig...nightmares of that daemon. Of...gods, it’s so stupid. I have them about everything. But you’ve...always been there.”

Ignis leans down, clasping Noctis’ hands in his. His hands are a pampered prince’s, still - elegant even as they are quickly gaining callouses from the hilt of his sword. Gladio’s strict training regimen has turned baby-soft child palms to a man’s over the years. He knows that one day Noctis will wear the Ring of the Lucii on his left hand, like a wedding band. Married to the Kingdom, to destiny, to the fifteen swords emblazoned behind Bahamut’s folded wings. The husband of the gods, the reluctant lover of fate.

He also knows that even for all their similarities, Noctis is not his father. His hands are small, his fingers thin. There is more of Aulea than Regis in those hands, and Ignis wonders if the bloodline’s heirloom will fit anywhere but his thumb.

Ignis wants to put another ring there, on the finger second from the end. _His._

“I always heard that that if you make a promise in front of the Crystal, it’s real.” Noctis repeats, all childlike insistence. He seems so fragile like this, so soft and small despite his twenty years and Ignis just wants to protect him, wants to hug him to his chest and run his hands through his hair, tell him it’s alright, he’s there, that Noct is _his._

“Given that we made our promise in front of the Crystal....” Ignis prompts. Maybe he is a weak man, maybe he is not as much Lucis’ as he is Noctis’, but he knows he can’t do it. He can’t advise Noct through a wedding he doesn’t want, can’t give him away.

“Then I can’t marry Luna for that treaty. I can’t marry _anyone_. I’m already married.” Noctis sits up and finshes for him, pulling his legs close in to his chest, wiping his damp cheeks with the back of his hand and scooting closer to Ignis, one leg crossed under him and the other curled around Ignis’ spot on the couch.

Ignis closes the distance between them in the span of a heartbeat, feels Noctis’ breath warm and soft against his lips. The treaty be damned, Ignis thinks, allows himself to be selfish perhaps just this once. _He’s mine_ , _and you can’t have him. I won’t let you take him away._

_**\- one week later, the Lucian council meeting -** _

The council table seems tense, unused to having the prince in attendance. He sit beside the King and opposite His Majesty’s Shield, Ignis at his side like always. He’s barely awake as the meeting goes on, eyes glassy and unfocused but he perks up when he hears the word “marriage”. A council member shuffles through papers, clears his throat. 

“Yes, marriage. It brings us to our next topic - although we have reports of unrest from what is left of the Niflheim empire, they are still cowed. It is best to keep them that way. The plan is to support the already-present bonds between Lucis and Tenebrae through the bonds of marriage.”

Ignis will not allow himself to look at Noctis. He focuses instead on the stack of papers in the man’s hand, lines and lines of text, official jargon detailing the proposal that wants to tear Noctis away from him. 

“HIs Royal Highness Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum is to wed Her Royal Highness Lunafreya Nox Fleuret of Tenebrae, strengthening our nations and forming an alliance that can never be broken.” 

Ignis feels Noctis tense beside him, sees his body language change from a relaxed slump to a defensive stance in a matter of seconds. It sounds so official, so final, makes their relationship seem so finite and he wonders if Noctis will say anything or if he’ll freeze up. He knows he’s here because he wants to say something, has dragged himself to a council meeting Ignis usually attends for him, but he also knows how hard it is for Noctis to speak his mind.

Regis nods as the proposal is read, face impassive, and the conversation fades to a dull murmur when Noctis quietly whispers “No.”

Regis holds a hand up to quiet his council. “No? And what do you say, my son?”

“I can’t marry her, Da - uh. Your Majesty,” Noctis says quietly. He seems so small again, so helpless and hopeless and Ignis aches to touch him. A small one is all he needs, just a touch to his elbow, his hand. Just to let him know he is there. “I can’t. And...I don’t want to.”

Ignis’ heart jumps into the region of his throat. His world is hanging on Noctis’ next words.

“I’m uh - already married.”

A hush falls over the room and Ignis studies the fountain pen before him on the table. He aches again to reach out to him, to link their fingers or even just to brush his thumb over Noctis’ but he stays perfectly still, offers his prince the opportunity to stand on his own. This is what he wants for him, what Noctis deserves: the opportunity to express himself.

“I married Ignis.”

The council erupts and the King quiets them again with a raised hand. Ignis allows himself a glance up to see His Majesty’s expression, fearing the worst but finding no scrutiny..

Regis speaks slowly, calmly, regal and wise as always and Ignis looks them to Noct, sees the worry in his wide eyes, the anxious way he plays with the hem of his shirt. 

“Please, allow Noctis to speak.”

Noctis is bright red, embarrassed and ashamed, but he continues. “I married Ignis. In front of the Crystal. When we were, uh...well, I was. Five.” he pauses, collecting his thoughts, searching through his memories for the legitimacy of his statement. “We said ‘I do’ and everything. In front of the Crystal.”

He looks to Ignis, the smallest hint of a smile on his soft lips and Ignis returns it with one of his own. One of the council members speaks up, then. “Surely, Your Majesty, a fleeting childhood promise does not come before the good of the kingdom - “

Ignis is preparing a rebuttal as witty and boring as the condescending statement calls for, and he is surprised when Noctis speaks up again instead. Usually easily quieted, it’s shocking to see him rise to his feet and stand in his spot at the table. 

“It’s not a _fleeting childhood promise_ ,” Noctis huffs. “Ignis and I have been married since I was six.”

Ignis can _feel_ dozens of eyes on him. He doesn’t speak for a long time, but when he does, he offers, “Your Majesty, it was never my intention to disrespect the council’s ideas or to hide something from you. We - _I_ \- thought it was a childhood game, or at least it seemed that way at the time.”

No one speaks for a long second, until Regis does. “I do recall a certain son of mine who once told me he was marrying someone.”

Noctis looks towards His Majesty and gods, if Ignis could preserve an expression it would be that one - the affirmation, the validation, the sheer _love_ that he felt for his often-absent father in that moment.

“...Dad?” he asks, hesitantly, forgetting his years of stiff politeness, his hours upon hours of instruction in manners and decorum. Forgetting that a King is a King before he is a father, that he is _Your Majesty_ instead of _Dad_ but he supposed rules are made to be broken when one’s feelings are reaffirmed in such a way.

Regis looks at the treaty sitting before him on the tabletop and turns it over face-down. “It would seem that the treaty, while an excellent proposition, is not able to be fulfilled in this regard. The meeting is adjourned.”

Noctis turns to Ignis and throws his arms around his neck, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes soaking into the collar of Ignis’ shirt. Ignis winds his arms around him, squeezes him tight and murmurs into his brow, whispers _Noctis, I love you_ for only them to hear. Embarrassed, Noctis pulls away right afterwards, stares at the floor and kicks the toe of his boot into the rug stretched under the council’s chairs but quietly, under the ruckus of a dozen council members standing up to leave, under the sound of Regis asking Clarus if he remembers that day on the rooftop, Noctis whispers “Love you too, Ig, gods, don’t be so embarrassing…”

\--

Ignis responds to Regis’ summons almost immediately, joining him at the top of the Citadel before the Crystal.

“As you well know, Ignis - “ Regis begins when Ignis joins him. “Those in our family have the unique ability to communicate with the Old Kings - those who came before us. Those who know more of the incredible magic this Crystal possesses.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ignis says, obedient. The Crystal is just as illustrious as he remembers it the day their lives changed forever, as beautiful as it has always been. “I find that power to be awe-inspiring.”

Regis smiles at him, and then turn back to the Crystal. There are a few moments of silence where the King studies the Crystal and Ignis studies the back of Regis’ head, waiting for him to speak. When he does, it’s calm, nothing like the reprimand Ignis was expecting to receive. “You’ve spent more time around Noctis than anyone, save for maybe Gladiolus,” he says. A statement, not a question. Everyone knows that Ignis very rarely leaves Prince Noctis’ side. “You know him better than anyone.”

“His Majesty flatters me.” Regis turns around, leaning on his cane as he steps forward, placing a steady hand on Ignis’ shoulder. 

“What Noctis says is true. To the Crystal, to the eyes of the Astrals themselves, you are Noctis have been married for the past fifteen years.” Regis explains. “It would seem that your childhood game was more than just that.”

Ignis freezes and bows his head. He knows Regis, knows the man trusts him both as one of his royal son’s retainers but also, now that it’s out in the open, his son’s partner. “Your Majesty, I never intended to manipulate or ruin any plans - “

Regis stops him with a raise of his hand, his customary gesture. “An apology is not necessary. I do not think that there is anyone Noctis would rather have than you.”

“There is no one I would rather have than His Highness,” Ignis answers. There is a band on Noctis’ ring finger, a black diamond set in gold that he had once thought only a dream. “I will protect him always, as you asked me to. I will stand by his side until the end of days.”

_—months later -_

Stand by his side he does, in a ceremony that fills the largest hall in the Citadel, the throne room with its tall windows and sunlight streaming in, making the dark, polished wood and inlaid gold gleam in the light. 

Noctis has never looked more beautiful than he does in his handsomely-tailored suit, the pressed black with the most delicate of gold pinstripes. His hair is unstyled, softly framing his face as he looks up at Ignis. Ignis is in matching black, his formal dress coat emblazoned with the Bahamut crest on the back, fifteen swords he’d take through the heart if it meant Noct would be alright.

“Shouldn’t we have done this in front of the Crystal?” Noct teases, trying to pretend they aren’t surrounded by people watching their every move. He reaches to touch Ignis’ chest, fingers moving just above the perfectly polished clasps of his coat but he stops, lowers his hand back to his side even though he’s smiling, still. “Make it official and all that?”

Ignis laughs, a rich sound, lowering his voice to a whisper as he leans in close. “It’s already official, sweetling. This is just a formality.”

“I can’t believe we’ve been married since I was five,” Noctis laughs with a shake of his head, turning to face King Regis CXIII to receive his blessing. “You probably knew. You know everything.”

Ignis bows his head just slightly to his new father-in-law, formal as ever as he says “Even if I had, I would have made the exact same decision. I would have said the exact same words.”

Noctis makes a small, strangled sound in lieu of words at first, but his hand finds Ignis’ in the scant space between their bodies, laces their fingers and squeezes them like they’re lifelines.

“Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/tsunderestorm) if you're interested in talking headcanons sometime. Thanks for reading!


End file.
